by C. M. Palov
He stared at the curious script.
“It could be some sort of Indian writing.” Edie handed the two sheets of paper back to him.
“I didn’t think the Narragansett possessed a written language.” He folded the fax sheets and placed them inside Lovett’s field notebook. “If, in fact, this was carved onto a foundation stone, its significance is negligible. As part of the building’s footings, the foundation stones aren’t visible. Chthonic in nature, such stones are symbolic of the grave and often carved with a message not meant to be seen by the living.”
“And on that cheery note, we need to hit the road.” She handed him the Templar signet ring.
About to replace the ring in its plastic bag, Caedmon had a sudden change of heart. Instead, he slipped it on his right ring finger. A perfect fit.
Noticing Edie’s quizzical expression, he shrugged.
“For safekeeping.”
CHAPTER 27
“But I thought that you thoroughly searched the premises,” Mercurius replied, surprised to learn that the meddlesome Brit had discovered something inside Jason Lovett’s cottage.
“I did search it!” Saviour exclaimed, clearly agitated. “But I tell you, I just saw Aisquith and his bitch haul a metal box into their hotel room. I’m so vlakas! No! Stupid doesn’t begin to describe me. How could I have missed—”
“Shhh. Calm down, amoretto. The pair has obviously found Dr. Lovett’s research material.” In the process of watering an indoor lemon tree, Mercurius set the galvanized can on the nearby potting table and shifted the cordless phone to his other ear. “As with all problems, this one has a solution.” Although, at the moment, he didn’t know what that might be.
“I can deal with those two the same way that I dealt with Jason Lovett.”
Mercurius hesitated. “I’m in a quandary and must ponder this new development before I make a decision,” he said, stowing his ego lest he reach a poorly contrived solution.
“The Englishman is fucking his woman as we speak.” A child of the streets, Saviour nastily chortled. “They’re not going anywhere any time soon. Although if all goes according to plan, soon they’ll both be coming.”
Mercurius let the crass remark pass in silence. “I will speak with you shortly, amoretto.”
Sighing, uncertain how to proceed, he disconnected the phone and set it beside the watering can. He then pinched a yellow leaf from a slender branch. As he rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger, the plucked leaf released a delicate lemony scent. Lamb meatballs wrapped in lemon leaves was one of Saviour’s favorite dishes and always elicited an exuberant round of compliments. Given to strong emotions, his eromenos tended to overreact. An endearing quality, one that Mercurius had learned to temper with a firm hand.
Had Hadrian been forced to temper the high-spirited Antinous? he wondered.
An interesting question, the play of opposites the beating heart of pederasty.
In ancient Greece, the relationship between a mature man, the erastes, and an adolescent boy, the eromenos, had been idealized. And ritualized courtship was an integral part of the relationship. The ancients recognized that mentoring was a key component in a boy’s education. How else would a youth learn to be a wise and prudent man? Saviour Panos had been a swaggering, beautiful eighteen-year-old man-child when they first met. Seven years later, he was still beautiful but not quite as brash.
Picking up the cordless phone, Mercurius left the conservatory. Through the window, he noticed that his next-door neighbor had just pulled into the driveway. The neighbors would undoubtedly be shocked if they knew the true nature of the relationship with his “nephew.” For nearly two decades, he’d resided in the same upscale neighborhood of lawyers and doctors and much-maligned financial planners. Good people who conducted their lives by the light of day but who lived in a state of darkness. No different from the “good” people of Thessaloniki.
Once the Jews had been expelled from the city in the spring of 1943, the good people went wild. Like devouring locusts, they looted vacant Jewish homes and warehouses, the Greeks convinced that Uncle Ezra had been hiding a fortune in gold and silver beneath the floorboards. Under the house. Even in the coffin, the thievery extended to the Jewish necropolis on the outskirts of Thessaloniki. The Nazis contributed to the hysteria by dynamiting the city’s synagogues.
To everyone’s keen disappointment, there was no hidden gold. There were other valuables—furniture, pianos, clothing—all of which were carefully packed and shipped to Germany.
Greek culture saturated with the notion of divine justice, the citizens of Thessaloniki paid heavily for their shameful behavior, enduring two years of privation. Food, fuel, and other basic necessities were in short supply. Hundreds perished from hunger. His own mother, forced to let go of the servants, took in laundry and learned to cook. Mercurius and his two sisters collected tinder in a small red wagon to ignite their mother’s pitiful cook fire. One day, toward the end of the occupation, he saw a Nazi officer leaving his mother’s bedroom. That night, a chicken miraculously appeared in their stewpot.
Soon after the war ended, the de Léon family immigrated to Chicago, a hirsute uncle with two spare bedrooms opening his door. In an episode similar to the one with the German officer, Mercurius caught his uncle Nikos buttoning his trousers as he left his mother’s bedroom. At the time, he’d considered it an act of disloyalty to his dead father. It wasn’t until many years later that he realized Melina de Léon had been forced to trade the only commodity she had—her extraordinary beauty—to provide for her children. Not only did Uncle Nikos, a butcher, daily provide fresh meat, he provided something that turned out to be priceless to Mercurius—a college education.
In his teen years, knowledge had been an escape. From the drudgery of mopping up entrails in his uncle’s butcher shop. From the shameful guilt of finding Rock Hudson more attractive than Elizabeth Taylor. In his twenties, while a doctoral candidate at the University of Chicago, knowledge became a gateway. A mind-blowing, consciousness-altering entry to the other side.
And, then, like a mugging in a dark alley, knowledge became a dangerous thing.
It was 1966. Twenty years earlier, the first of the Dead Sea Scrolls had been discovered by Arab Bedouin in the caves of Qumran. The scrolls, consisting of some nine hundred separate documents, had been hidden by a cloistered sect of Jews known as the Essenes. Contemporaries of the Christian Messiah, they’d maintained an impressive library in their secret grotto.
The amazing discovery proved to be the largest cache of biblical texts ever found. Moreover, the scrolls were of immense value to all three religions of the Book, containing writings from the Old Testament, noncanonical Apocryphal texts, and various sectarian manuscripts. All uncensored and unedited. And that worried religious leaders who feared the scrolls might ultimately prove “sacrilegious.” A direct challenge to accepted orthodoxy.
Early on, Mercurius became fascinated with one scroll in particular—the famous Copper Scroll. He’d just completed his doctoral work in ancient and extinct Semitic languages and had finagled a prestigious appointment at the Archaeological Museum in Amman, Jordan, to study the unique metal scroll. Unique, because of all the hundreds of scrolls, it was the only one not written on parchment or papyrus.
Unearthed in 1952, a preliminary translation was made, the Copper Scroll once again proving unique in that it didn’t contain any biblical scripture or commentary. Instead, it contained a detailed list of sixty-four different locations where an immense treasure trove of gold and silver had supposedly been hidden.
Was it any wonder that he’d been thrilled at the prospect of traveling to Jordan to study those twenty-three pieces of copper?
From the onset, Mercurius thought it odd that the scroll had been scribed on copper—of all materials!—and composed in an early square-form Hebrew script with intermittent Greek letters. An avid fan of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s, he approached the Copper Scroll like a detective rather than an academic.
And the truth was astounding.
Soon after his arrival in Amman, he uncovered a secret code embedded in the Greek letters that punctuated the Hebrew script. But more surprising than that, the cleverly devised code spelled the name Akhenaton. He knew from his studies of ancient Egypt that the pharaoh Akhenaton had instituted a monotheistic religion that worshipped a sun god called Aten. The plot thickened when he discovered that Akhenaton and the Hebrew patriarch Moses had been contemporaries.
Suddenly, the biblical assertion that “Moses was learned in all the wisdom of the Egyptians” took on new meaning for Mercurius. Could there have been a connection between the ancient Israelites and the monotheistic pharaoh? If he could prove that a link existed, it would certainly shed new light on the origins of Judaism.
Excited by the discovery, he shared his findings with several of his colleagues. Who among those esteemed academics was responsible for the catastrophe that followed, he couldn’t say. At the time, he didn’t much care who was to blame. He was too devastated by the fact that all of his research—twelve months’ worth—was stolen from his small windowless office at the Archaeology Museum and that a single word, punctuated with a bold exclamation point, had been scrawled on the wall next to his overturned desk—Heretic! Uncannily similar to the scare tactic used by the Nazis, who would scrawl the word Juden! on a house or storefront before shipping someone off to Auschwitz.
Afraid that he might be dealing with the same kind of blind hatred, Mercurius heeded the warning and never again mentioned the secret code embedded in the Copper Scroll. The ransacked office bespoke an incontrovertible truth—that human institutions are fundamentally corrupt; education, religion, and government were a sham hoisted upon mankind to deceive us into believing that we have some measure of control over our lives. We earn a degree, we bend a knee, we cast a vote. It was mere stagecraft to camouflage the evil that lurked in our midst. The perpetuation of a three-thousand-year-old deception. One that led all the way back to Akhenaton and Moses.
That long-ago day, as he stood in the small windowless office, it simply sufficed that he’d discovered the heretofore unknown connection between those two disparate figures. Later, many years later, in fact, he would comprehend the significance of that connection. For it was the root of all evil.
As providence would have it, the incident in Armana was significant for another reason—it was the Second Sign that he had been consecrated at birth for a great and glorious purpose. The First Sign had been revealed twenty-three years earlier—on that fateful night when his father, Osman de Léon, and the Kabbalist Moshe Benaroya had been forcibly marched to the train station.
You must always remember, little one, that you were named for the Bringer of the Light.
Do not fear the Light, Merkür. For it will lead you to your life’s purpose.
Another thirty-seven years would pass before the next sign was revealed to him. Thirty-seven years before he learned that his ordained purpose was to extinguish the dark fire that had brightly burned for countless centuries. By summoning a firestorm to douse the flames.
But to do so, he had to find the sacred relic.
Stepping into his study, Mercurius walked over to the window to draw the drapes, the glass reflecting the setting orb in the western sky. He pulled the heavy fabric panels, catching a glimpse of the dormant rose garden just beyond the window, beautifully splashed with bloody streaks.
Again, he considered the metal box that Saviour had seen Caedmon Aisquith carry into the hotel room. The more hidden a thing, the more holy. He smiled, well aware of what the Knights Templar had hidden in their New World colony. He knew because Moshe Benaroya, his father’s milk brother, had exposed the relic’s provenance in explicit detail.
And Mercurius would let the Englishman find it for him.
Still holding the cordless phone, he accessed the speed-dial function. Saviour picked up on the first ring.
“I’ve reached a decision, amoretto.”
CHAPTER 28
“I give you Arcadia. Heaven on earth.” As they entered a sun-dappled glade, Caedmon expansively gestured to the hardwood and evergreen backdrop. “Indeed, if it didn’t exist, we’d have to invent it.”
For the last hour, guided by Jason Lovett’s GPS receiver, Edie and Caedmon had been traipsing through the Arcadia Management Area, a surprisingly remote and rugged woodland dotted with limpid kettle ponds, vivacious brooks, and lush foliage. Beautiful to behold, it was an unspoiled landscape far different from the wind-swept coastline they’d explored the day before. Although the eastern coast and the western woodland did share something in common: a whole lot of rocks. Big ones. Small ones. They came in every shape and size, and Edie worried they might have trouble finding the so-called Templar stone, the first of two landmarks on Lovett’s map that they hoped to locate. The second landmark was a stone bridge supposedly constructed by a mythic Narragansett man-god known as Yawgoog, whom Jason Lovett was convinced had been a Knights Templar.
“Arcadia was an oasis for those brave knights mercilessly hunted by the Inquisition,” Caedmon continued. “And one that abundantly provided the fugitive Templars with food, water, and the raw materials to build their New Jerusalem.”
As he spoke, Edie envisioned Caedmon as a medieval knight decked out in chain and mail. Last night she’d watched him as he slept, his curled fists stacked on his chest as though cradled around an imaginary broadsword.
“Sounds great,” she replied, adjusting the strap on her knapsack. “But I’m still trying to wrap my mind around a hidden treasure trove, the monetary value of which has as many digits as a long-distance telephone number.” Counting on her fingers, she began to recite her own telephone number, only to stop in mid-recitation. “Unbelievable. Not enough digits.”
Caedmon glanced at the GPS device. “We’re within six hundred yards of the Templar stone.”
Edie peered over her shoulder, verifying that they were still alone in the forest. Although Caedmon had repeatedly assured her that Rico Suave had lost their scent, she wasn’t entirely convinced. A psychiatrist would probably diagnose her as having deep-seated trust issues. But then that same shrink hadn’t witnessed a man being murdered with a very sharp stiletto.
“What I want to know is how in God’s name the explorer Verrazano even knew to look for the Templars here in Arcadia? Clearly, the knights went to great lengths to keep their secret refuge just that, a secret.”
Caedmon held back a leafy fir bough, motioning her to pass in front of him. “I seem to recall that the Indians sold Manhattan Island to Dutch explorers for about sixty guilders worth of beads and trinkets. Roughly the equivalent of twenty-five dollars.”
“So, in other words, the Templars may have been sold out on the cheap.”
“Not necessarily by the Narragansett but perhaps by a rival tribe who knew of their existence. We shall probably never know the specifics of how their demise came about.”
As they navigated their way through dense, overgrown brush, Edie irritably thought they should have brought a machete instead of the small handheld pickax that Caedmon had tied onto his knapsack. A city girl at heart, tromping through the woods had never been her idea of a fun time.
“According to the GPS map, the Templar stone is close at hand,” Caedmon informed her, blue eyes excitedly gleaming.
“Close at hand but well hidden,” Edie said under her breath when they exited the piney wood and entered a clearing inundated with scores of hefty boulders. In the midst of the boulders were the remains of a demolished rock pile. A steep granite slope some fifty feet in height ominously hovered at the periphery of the clearing.
“We know from Dr. Lovett’s recording that a Templar symbol was carved into a large freestanding stone.” Poised in the classic buccaneer stance—feet wide apart, hands on hips—Caedmon surveyed the tumble of large boulders.
“But there
’s at least thirty boulders and a couple of hundred rocks out here.”
“Right. Time to divide and conquer. We can rule out the rock pile, the individual stones of which are too small to be carved upon. That said, I’ll take these boulders on the western side of the clearing.”
“Okay, rock on.” She gave Caedmon the heavy-metal hand salute. At seeing his bewildered expression, she chuckled. “Or not.”
It took only a few minutes for hope to mutate into disappointment. Edie found nothing that even remotely resembled a man-made carving. She shuffled back to the rock pile in the center of the clearing. “No carvings on my side of the street. You’re certain that we’re at the right map coordinates?”
Caedmon glanced at the GPS receiver. “Quite. Unfortunately, Lovett made no written notation in his field journal regarding the Templar stone, fearful, no doubt, that his notes might be confiscated.”
“In his digital voice recording he said that he was brought here by an Indian named Tonto Sinclair. Maybe we should give him a call.”
Her suggestion went unanswered.
Lost in thought, Caedmon circled the rock pile. “This cairn was deliberately constructed. And, more than likely, these loose stones littering the base were part of the original stack.” He pointed to the hundreds of rocks haphazardly scattered on the ground.
“Perhaps this was a holy place for the Indians. You know, like a ceremonial burial ground.”
“Admittedly, my knowledge of the local native tribes is paltry, but that doesn’t ring true. If you’ll recall, many of the Yawgoog tales involved our mythic man-god industriously working with stones. A labor that the Narragansett deemed peculiar.”
“So, what are you saying? That Yawgoog stacked these rocks? And, if so, to what end?”
“To answer that, we must envision this pile of rocks as it once appeared long centuries ago.”
Edie tilted her head as she stared at the nearly destroyed cairn. She then blurted the first thing that popped into her head. “It was shaped like a pyramid.”